


super secret-agent spies

by novoaa1



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Ceiling Vent Clint Barton, F/F, Hacker Skye | Daisy Johnson, Humor, M/M, POV Skye | Daisy Johnson, SHIELD Family, Shenanigans, Skye | Daisy Johnson Feels, Skye | Daisy Johnson Needs a Hug, also daisy doesn't know who hawkeye is, but shes obsessed with black widow, cute cuddly assassins, daisy and hunter are basically siblings at this point, daisy doesn't know may and coulson are dating nat and clint, daisys kind of a fangirl, ish, its cute, its hilarious, she finds out, shield kids being idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-07 02:07:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18863557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novoaa1/pseuds/novoaa1
Summary: Daisy doesn't know that May and Phil (aka Mom and Dad) are dating people, much less freakingAvengers.And when she has an unplanned run-in (Hunter's fault) with all four of them? Together? At the same time? Well.





	super secret-agent spies

**Author's Note:**

> just a random idea that came into my head because i just think it'd literally be so mcfreakin funny... 
> 
> also, i ended up loving writing daisy's pov a lot more than I originally thought.
> 
> hope you like:)

Daisy likes to think she doesn’t get surprised by things all that often anymore—at least, not when it comes to her family, to the home she’s built with Phil and May and Fitzsimmons and S.H.I.E.L.D. (whatever’s left of it) and whoever else they decide to pick up along the way: Grant Ward is still a cowardly sociopathic deranged dickwad (with a downright frustratingly bulked-up body that quite _literally_ never seems to quit), Phil has yet to successfully complete the precisely one-second-long process of saving a file on his hard drive without needing her help, and Melinda May has never smiled with teeth—at least, not that Daisy has ever seen (though she’s long since accepted the distinct possibility that she never will).

 

So yeah, maybe it was a surprise to find out that James Charles was, in fact, an actual person and _not_ a fictional character in some incredibly niche adult cartoon show; and yeah, maybe waking up one morning to find out that Donald Trump was going to be the president of _America_ for the next four years felt something akin to how she imagines a coke-laced acid trip from hell—but, fine. She can roll with that. 

 

And maybe it’s because she grew up being chucked from foster home to foster home like some deranged offshoot of 'Hot Potato’ in which she’d unwittingly become the stupid flaming potato that no one wanted, but change _gets_ to her in a way that nothing else does—what’s more, most of the time, it hurts. A lot. 

 

She’d never had “good” change—at least, not until Phil. Until May. Until _S.H.I.E.L.D._.

 

She doesn’t get her hopes up anymore, because she knows better—but really, if all the changes she sees are gonna end up being like this, it’s gonna be a hell of a lot harder to keep that fundamentalist life philosophy of hers for much longer.

 

And fine, yes; she should probably explain why she’s harping on about change and its nuances like a freaking Shakespearian poet with far too much time on their hands.

 

It’s coming, alright? 

 

But first, to recap: she _hates_ change—or, Phil says ‘hate’ is an extreme word, so she’ll say this: she _strongly dislikes_ change. (God, he’s such a Dad sometimes.)

 

But even despite everything telling her she shouldn’t, Phil and May and Fitzsimmons and every goddamned do-gooder at S.H.I.E.L.D. are somehow managing to make her believe that maybe it doesn’t have to be such a bad thing after all, that maybe change is beautiful instead of destructive, that maybe destruction and beauty have a hell of a lot more overlap than she’ll ever know (Blegh, now she’s waxing poetic—when did she get so _sentimental?_ Personally, she blames Phil)—she can’t decide if she hates or loves them for it. 

 

(She can, actually, even if she doesn’t want to admit it: she loves them. More than anything. More than she ever thought was possible to love another person. 

 

And for reasons she’s still left trying desperately to decipher on her bad days, they love her back, whether things or good, or not so good, or just plain _bad_.

 

It’s the best thing she’s ever felt in her life.)

 

And all the while, she’s been waiting for the hammer to drop—for the bad change, the kind she’s known her whole life, the kind she’d been sure was the _only_ kind until she’d joined S.H.I.E.L.D.

 

And still, it doesn’t. 

 

Because one day, she’s tucked deep in the technological bay at headquarters where no one ever walks by (it reminds her of the van she used to own, her _home_ —before Phil taught her home didn’t have to be a place), her trusty laptop warm and alive beneath her fingertips, various windows displaying camera angles of the base dotted haphazardly across the screen as she works absentmindedly on a self-correcting chain of code in her nearly un-hackable firewall that’ll make the Pentagon’s look like a freaking _joke_ in comparison (though to be fair, that’s not all that hard a feat to accomplish in the first place)—and suddenly, something catches her eye on one of the tiny windows hovering in the bottom left corner of her screen, because those are _not_ any agents she’s seen before, but they’re walking with almost terrifying purpose like they’d slit a man’s throat just for _looking_ at either of them the wrong way and—

 

Holy _shit_. 

 

Within seconds, Daisy’s fingers are flying over the keys, blowing up the camera shot to take up the entire screen, freezing the frame at the best grainy shot she can find of the tall dirty-blonde-haired man and his shorter red-headed female companion, facial recognition up and running even as Daisy stares disbelievingly at the picture on her laptop with wide brown eyes and a gaping mouth, because No _way_.

 

There’s no. Freaking. _Way_.

 

Facial recognition snags two hits a half a second later, and as it turns out, there absolutely _is_ a freaking way, because that’s the arrow-shooting _birdguy_ (or whatever his name is supposed to be) strutting alongside the Black _Freaking_ Widow in _their_ headquarters, where Daisy lives and eats Hot Cheetos and pokes endless fun at Phil and May and—

 

_OhmyGodOhmyGodOhmy God._

 

(Needless to say, it takes her a long time to calm down.)

 

After her insane discovery, she does a quick Google search (on a private browser, of course, because she’s not a _moron_ and it’s also a subtle way to tell Big Brother he can suck her _dick_ , which is always a big green plus): 'Is it possible to hav ea heart attack at 26 yrs old?’

 

(The subsequent results are not at all encouraging.

 

She makes a note to have Jemma examine her down in the labs as soon as she gets her breathing under control—which, admittedly, may take some time, because Holy _shit_.)

 

⤨ ⤨ ⤨ ⤨ ⤨ ⤨ ⤨ ⤨ ⤨ ⤨ ⤨ ⤨ ⤨ ⤨ ⤨ ⤨ ⤨

 

Daisy fidgets—she can’t help it. 

 

Birdman and Black Widow walked into Coulson’s office (where he’d been having his daily lunch with May) 37 minutes ago and haven’t come out since (though Daisy certainly wouldn’t put it past them to have jumped out the window and rappelled down the side of the base like the super secret-agent spies they were), and it’s driving her _crazy_.

 

Coulson didn’t tell her he knew the Pigeon Dude and the Black _Freaking_ Widow (well, he’d said he’d _known_ the Avengers, but knowing them and having them show up unannounced at his office for tea time are two entirely different things, and Daisy doesn’t think she’s crazy for thinking that)—and now she’s crouched around the corner flanked by Fitz and Simmons on either side of her, because they _still_ haven’t come out and those are freaking _Avengers_ up in there with S.H.I.E.L.D. Mom and Dad, and Daisy needs to know what’s happening before she goes insane. 

 

“Should we send Sleepy in there?” Fitz asks in a whisper, his blue eyes wide and curious. 

 

Daisy thinks for a moment. “No,” she decides. “They’re super secret spies; they’re gonna _kill_ the poor guy.”

 

“He’s actually a dwarf with aerodynamic state-of-the-art scanning capabilities,” mutters Fitz, sounding vaguely indignant. 

 

Jemma just rolls her eyes, though she looks thoughtful, biting her bottom lip every now and then as if something’s bugging her. 

 

“What?” Daisy asks after Jemma does it again, completely unable to focus while Simmons’ uncertainty rolls off her in palpable waves.

 

Jemma’s hazel eyes dart to meet Daisy’s, a startled look on her features. “Sorry?”

 

Daisy huffs. “I can practically _hear_ you thinking.”

 

“Oh,” Jemma flushes a light pink. “Well, it’s just—I mean, m-maybe it’s none of our business what they’re up to.”

 

Daisy fights the urge to roll her eyes. “Of _course_ it’s our business, Jemma—that’s Mom and Dad in there! What if Birdman and Black Widow are torturing them for information?”

 

(She knows it’s the farthest thing from likely, but really, she doesn’t have time to come up with something better.)

 

Jemma looks conflicted. “I—"

 

“Pretty sure his name isn’t Birdman,” a low British voice comes from behind, nearly causing Daisy to lose her balance and crash onto the floor—immediately all three of them are whipping around to find none other than Hunter casually standing just two paces away in jeans and a teal-green V-neck.

 

“Hunter,” Daisy hisses. “Don’t _do_ that.”

 

Hunter just waves a hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he drawls, then crouches low like the rest of them, moving to join their huddle. “So, what’s the plan?”

 

Fitz blinks. “The plan?”

 

“Yes, genius,” Hunter quips with a roll of his eyes, gently nudging Fitz’s shoulder with his own. “How are we getting in there?”

 

Jemma clears her throat. “You know, I really don’t think—"

 

“Ceiling vents?” Daisy supplies. 

 

Hunter shakes his head. “No, I hear Hawkeye practically _lives_ in those vents; he’ll see it coming from miles—"

 

“Hawkeye?”

 

Hunter just lifts a single brow at Daisy, like she’s the dumbest person on Earth. “The lad you just called ‘Birdman,’ I believe.”

 

Daisy pointedly fights the overwhelming urge to smack the smug look off his face. “Same goddamned thing,” she mumbles. 

 

Hunter scrunches his features. “Is it, though?”

 

Daisy just glares at the ridiculously self-assured ex-mercenary, her glower only deepening as he smirks casually back at her.

 

Eventually, Hunter heaves a sigh, breaking his gaze away from Daisy’s formidable stare. “You know what? This is pointless. Let’s just go knock.”

 

With that, he gets up despite Daisy’s urgent whispered protests (Fitz looks positively horrified, while Jemma looks as if she might faint), then strides confidently around the corner—after uttering a particularly distasteful curse beneath her breath, Daisy angrily follows him, Jemma and Fitz on her tail (albeit with noticeable hesitation) looking like lost puppies as they stumble after her down the dimly-lit hallway.

 

Hunter’s hand is reaching for the doorknob when she catches up with the man, pulling on his muscled shoulder with both hands (though careful to avoid making any sort of unnecessary noise), praying he’ll take the hint and fall back—but he doesn’t; suddenly and without warning, he’s jerking his entire body forward to twist out of Daisy’s grip (it doesn’t work) while his other arm deftly twists the doorknob, and instantly Daisy’s being yanked forward off balance and tumbling over Hunter and she’s sure they’re both well on their way to face-planting into Phil’s wooden door, but at the last second Hunter pushes it to swing open because instead there’s just hardwood flooring in her path which they’re approaching at startling speed; a second later, they're both tumbling ungraciously down onto the polished wood of the floor in a tangled heap of limbs, both cursing spectacularly at the other (though undoubtedly, Hunter’s muffled profanity is much more creative than Daisy’s). Meanwhile, Jemma and Fitz are standing just outside the doorway, the former with a hand over her gaping mouth in an almost textbook expression of shock, and the latter clutching his beloved tablet tightly to his chest with trembling hands, looking by all accounts as if he's just seconds away from wetting himself.

 

It’s not one of her finer moments, Daisy will admit later—but whatever. They’d done it; they’d gotten into the room. 

 

Rolling hastily off of a groaning Hunter, she scrambles to stand (using the now-open door to steady her balance), eyes going wide and jaw dropping at the sight before her because Holy _shit_. 

 

Phil is sitting on the floor slumped haphazardly against his desk, while Birdma— _Hawkeye_ , she reminds herself dryly—is laid perpendicular to Phil, his head topped with messy golden-bronze-ish hair nestled comfortably in Phil’s lap.

 

And if _that_ wasn’t enough to send Daisy prematurely into a particularly violent bout of cardiac arrest, the Black Widow has perched herself cutely across May’s lap (who's sitting in one of two black cushioned chairs in Phil’s office), both arms slung lazily around the Asian woman’s neck while both of May’s arms wrapped securely around her waist and thighs respectively to keep the slender redhead in place.

 

Both pairs are now looking with dubious interest at a gaping Daisy and a still-sprawled Hunter on the hardwood floor along with a likewise open-mouthed Fitzsimmons behind them—and get this: none of them even bothers trying to move from their… _compromising_ position. 

 

(Which, fine, they’re all badass super-secret S.H.I.E.L.D. people who can kill a man with their pinky, so perhaps it’s not surprising that they heard the four of them coming from miles away. 

 

What’s surprising is that they didn’t _move_ when they heard them coming.)

 

Holy _shit_. 

 

“Bloody hell,” she vaguely hears Hunter say from the floor, and she doesn’t even care about staying angry with him any more (even though he’s a freaking _moron_ ), because ‘Bloody hell’ is _right_. 

 

“Hey, Daisy,” Phil calls out casually, one hand absentmindedly playing with the dirty-blonde tufts of Hawkeye Man’s hair. “You could’ve just knocked, you know.” 

 

Daisy just stares.

 

“This is Daisy?” asks the Black Widow then—and her voice sounds… soft; melodious. She doesn’t _sound_ like a deadly ex-KGB ex-assassin that could kill Daisy right here right now without batting an eye, which is wholly and uniquely jarring on an entirely new level, and Daisy doesn’t know what the _hell_ she’s supposed to do. 

 

May nods in response, her eyes still fixated steadfastly on the beautiful redhead in her lap, and—Holy shit.

 

Holy. _Shit_.

 

No one’s gonna believe her when she tells them, but May actually _smiles_ —like, with teeth and everything—at the dangerous deadly Black Widow, who smiles right back, and not in the ‘You’re-my-mark-and-I’m-about-to-kill-you-but-you-just-think-you’re-getting-laid’ kind of way; no, as far as Daisy can see (though admittedly she’s not James Bond or anything), it's… affectionate. _Loving_.

 

Then the redheaded assassin lady is turning to look at her again, her green eyes decently warm but unashamedly calculating. “It’s nice to meet you, Daisy. I’m Natasha.”

 

“And I’m Clint,” adds the Bird Guy on the floor, waving a lazy hand in greeting.

 

If at all possible, Daisy’s jaw drops even further. 

 

“Fitz?” She barely hears herself speaking. 

 

A moment’s pause. “Yea?” Fitz responds, sounding rather distracted—well, join the goddamned club, cause she’s distracted, too.

 

“Did you accidentally put vaporized purple weed in the air conditioning system again?”

**Author's Note:**

> as always, would love feedback on any of it:) (my [tumblr](https://psyches.co.vu/))


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